


Do I Wanna Know (if this feeling flows both ways)?

by mmmelmoth



Series: song-steered Parksborn stories [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, Bisexual Peter Parker, Cheesy, Childhood Friends, Cute gays, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Harry Osborn, I just had the song stuck to my head and I had to do something about it, I'm lactose intolerant why did I write this, Inspired by Music, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Pining, Sobriety, Unrequited Crush, it's all very nicely framed and that's the only thing I'm proud of, this is so cheesy you shouldn't read it if you're lactose intolerant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: "I found this tune that makes me think of you somehowand I play it on repeat"Harry Osborn is pining for his best friend, who doesn't have much of a clue.





	1. Color in your cheeks

**Author's Note:**

> I pictured Dane DeHaan and Andrew Garfield while writing this, but this basically works with any Peter Parker and Harry Osborn (nothing wrong with James Franco, eh?). It also takes place somewhere outside of the movies, so no spoilers included!

"Happy Birthday!" Five Minutes later than planned, Peter stood in front of Harry's house, holding out the badly wrapped present.

Harry, in spite of being the one who sent out a spontaneous invitation, looked at his best friend with surprise. "...Peter. Why don't you come in?"

Peter complied, hanging his coat on the wardrobe. "It's not much," he explained, handing Harry the present, "It's all I could come up with on such short notice."

"I told you, you didn't have to." Getting presents had been weird ever since he'd become painfully aware of how rich they were, especially since his father always determined the value of things strictly by their price and not by the possible thoughts behind them. _He used to, anyway_.

Peter followed Harry into the lobby, still expecting to find a party of some sort. When he didn't, he cautiously asked: "Where is everyone?"

"You're the only one I invited. I hope that doesn't make it weird, I just... didn't want to be alone on my birthday." Harry admitted, almost regretting the idea, "You don't have to stay unless you want to." While saying this, he knew he wasn’t leaving loyal, empathetic Peter with much of a choice. He hated himself for it.

"Nonsense. Of course I'll stay. I might even like it better that way. God knows I would've been misplaced in a gathering of New York's richest youngsters." Peter sat down on the couch and relaxed, and automatically, so did Harry. The mental picture of Pete in his sweatshirt hoodie, clutching a wineglass in his fist, surrounded by young gentlemen in tuxedoes made Harry’s mood lighten a little.

"Go ahead then. Unpack it, birthday boy." Nodding towards the present, Peter pulled Harry down next to him and eyed his good work. He really had tried with the wrapping, not that you could see it. At one point he'd just wanted to seal it shut with his webs, but it was still better to have his best friend thinking he was the world's worst gift-wrapper as opposed to finding out he's freaking Spider-Man.

Harry started ripping the paper away piece by piece, only to reveal more newspaper underneath. "Ah. Classic. I haven't seen this since your last Christmas present when we were like 8." He laughed.

"It was a pack of gum, right?" Peter remembered.

"Yeah. And a shitload of paper all around to make it look the size of a throw pillow." Harry caught Pete smiling from the corner of his eye and his stomach began fluttering. He pushed away all thoughts like _Why am I doing this to myself?_

"Well, don't worry. My wrapping strategy may be the same but I've stepped up my present-game. You'll see. Careful." Peter added when Harry got to the bottom of the mess created by pages of _The Daily Bugle_. Pulling away the last pieces of paper, Harry uncovered the vinyl record that was meant to be the actual present. The cover consisted of two white sound waves on an otherwise black background.

"Do you know it?" Peter asked curiously.

"I don't, actually." Turning it around to read the track list, Harry let his fingers run across the smooth cover.

"I figured if there's a person in New York still listening to Vinyl records, it'd be you."

Harry barely registered the comment as he pulled it out of its cover. "It's gorgeous." He muttered.

"Now please tell me you have a record player, or I'll have to exchange it." Pete joked, making Harry roll his eyes. "You know where you are, Parker? In this house we have all sorts of expensive antique trash that no normal person would have any use for."

"You forget that some of this trash happens to be rad as hell."

"Rad, schmad." Harry reluctantly got up and plugged in the record player in the right corner of the room, "Okay, how does this work?"

Jumping over the side of the couch, Peter squeezed himself between Harry and the player, extending his hand to carefully take the record, "Gimme that."

Handing it to him, Harry cocked an eyebrow and eased away a little. Closeness hurt. "I didn't know you did parcour."

Going over that notion, Pete got the record running and gently put the needle on it. A static noise emerged. "You oughta appreciate this. Listen." The static transforms into the first few drumbeats. "You're giving me jazz music for my birthday, Parker?" Harry joked. "Not exactly. You'll like it." Peter seemed sure of himself as the bass chords continued their lethargic rhythm.

So far he did, Harry realized, it's catchy enough. "You want something to drink?" He asked.

  
When he got back with two glasses of whiskey, Pete had installed himself back on the couch. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed. Combined with the melancholic glow that the music wrapped this room in, it must've been the most pleasant thing Harry had ever laid eyes upon.

He sat up normally before Harry slid down next to him, making the other boy wonder how he heard him approaching with the basses ringing. Taking the whiskey glass Peter grimaced: "I never understood how you could drink that stuff."

"It's simple." Harry replied, downing the glass in one swallow and making a show of it.

"See, that's when I'd get a coughing fit" Pete interjected and Harry went on: "If you stopped thinking so much you wouldn't. Imagine it's someone running your hands down your throat."

"Burning hands?"

"Kinky, right?" Harry laughed and refilled his own glass while Pete took a cautious sip of his own. He didn’t cough. "This is the best birthday I've had in years. I'm really enjoying that song." Harry stared at the ceiling, waiting for the alcohol's effects to kick in.

"It's called _Do I Wanna Know_. Artsy kids love it."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I'm taking being your only guest as a compliment."

"Well, it was just meant as an insult to everybody else. Not that they care or know it's my birthday."

"They would if you let them in. Look at me, am I not the walking example for that?"

Feeling dizzy enough, Harry sat up and turned towards Peter, smiling lopsided. "Yeah, you're a specimen but I couldn't handle more of you. There's no need to pity me."

Pete took one more sip, confused by how Harry kept saying nice things and instantly going over them. "I don't pity you, I'm worried that's all. It must be awfully lonely."

Running his fingers through his hair, Harry shrugged. "I'm just as lonely among most people as I am by myself."

Peter thought about asking what he means by _most people_ , but decided against it because no matter what the answer to that could have been, it was scary.

"Need a refill?" Before he got the chance to answer, Harry was already filling up both of their glasses again and Peter didn’t stop him. Being around Harry had always felt like a challenge of some sort. He knew he probably couldn't compete with him in terms of alcohol consumption, but he nonetheless felt the stupid need to try. So he downed the glass and held it out to be filled up again.

"Oh, I see Mr Parker hath pulled his head out of his arse." Harry quipped.

"Mr Parker's head never was in the location you suggested, sir." Peter retorted in his best British accent, proud of himself when Harry's lips curved into a grin. They clinked glasses, and simultaneously leaned back.

"We should do this more often." Harry remarked. It wasn't a question, but part of him was eager for Pete to express his agreement.

"I wouldn't want to drink every time I'd like to see you." Was the answer he got and couldn't have hoped for. He struggled to find something to say, to justify his need for the golden liquid inside the glass. Instead of coming up with something he just took another sip.

When Harry placed his head on Peter's shoulder, he didn't flinch or push him back. Inhaling his smell of paper, shampoo and spandex for some reason, he wondered how long it would take until this completely destroyed him. He could feel his own heart pumping quickly, while Pete's echoed quietly not nearly as fast.

How stupid he was.


	2. Have You Got The Guts

How drunk he was. The days after his birthday, he’d been listening to the vinyl record on loop until he couldn’t stand it any more. Shutting it off didn’t help as the songs were still stuck to his head, especially the first one. _I dreamt about you nearly every night this week_ resonated with him, in fact all of the lyrics did, and he asked himself quietly if this was some newfound form of torture. Friday night with half a bottle of expensive whiskey in his bloodstream, he gave up on his composure. His eyesight blurry and his balance slightly damaged, he grabbed his phone from the coffee table and fumbled around until he hit the right name in his contact book. The only one he cared about.

“Harry, how’s it going?”

“Hey.” He slurred smoothly.

“You sound weird.”

“I sound normal.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Will you join me?” He heard Peter hesitating at the other end of the line. Then: “I told you last time, I don’t want to only get together with you to drink.”

“You don’t have to drink. We can just hang.” For himself, it was much too late not to drink. Maybe he’d sober up a bit until Pete arrived. “I understand if you have other plans,” He added, wishing he could take back the call, “It’s Friday night after all.”

“I’m studying. I’ll be there soon, okay?” _Soon._ Warmth spread through Harry’s torso, or maybe it was just another side effect of the alcohol. “Thanks, Pete.”

He forced himself to keep his fingers off any sort of bottle until Peter arrived, he even drank some water from the tab to seem more sober in the least. Waiting, he slowly swayed along to the music filling the room when Peter suddenly stood in the doorframe.

“You look like the last person present at prom. Possibly stoned.” Pete teased, making Harry stop dead in his tracks and turn towards him with an undignified look. “How’d you get in? Did I miss you picking my lock?”

Vaguely gesturing behind him, Peter answered: “Fire escape.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow, then nodded towards the couch. “Don’t act like a stranger. Make yourself at home. What do you want to drink?”

“I told you, I…”

“I got that part, don’t worry. What sort of non-alcoholic beverage can I offer?” They browsed the fridge together. After standing much longer in its sparse light and closer than necessary, they settled for two diet cokes and sat down on opposite ends of the small couch, feet up in the middle.

“Remember when your dad scolded us for jumping up and down on this?” Peter asked once they’d clinked bottles, and he watched Harry’s face turn into a small frown. “There wasn’t much he didn’t scold us for. Unless he wasn’t home. Look at me now, I have the place all to myself – forever. If only I’d known adulthood brought such bliss.” He said sarcastically.

Peter regretted mentioning it, which didn’t go unnoticed by Harry. “Let’s talk about something else. The music.”

“Did you listen to it all? Do you like it?”

_Did I listen to it? Only for days on end. Only ever since you left._ “I like it all right.” Harry replied, studying Pete when he wasn’t looking. His soft features, the doe eyes made his insides tingle. When Peter looked up, it took all his strength not to avert his eyes like a shy schoolgirl but to narrow them inquiringly, playing over his emotions, to ask: “Why’d you give it to me?”

Pete laughed. “What do you mean? It was your birthday.”

_Take the hint, moron. Please._ “No, why did you give that specific album to me?”

The question had been boiling inside him ever since he first really paid attention to the lyrics. _Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new? I’m just constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you? I was sort of hoping that you’d stay?_ Now it was most likely just wishful thinking on Harry’s part, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that Pete had given him an entire album consisting mostly of songs about pining. He needed an answer, because his own hopes were eating him alive.

“You always liked catchy songs with a strong rhythm. It was a good present, wasn’t it?” Of course he didn’t take the hint.

“Yes.” Harry answered, his throat like sandpaper.

“So what’s up today?” Peter asked, obviously concerned. His diet coke was almost empty.

Harry shrugged, which was a lie. He fumbled with his hands and admitted quietly enough: “You might not be entirely wrong about the loneliness thing you said last time.”

Silence wrapped itself like a blanket around them, threatening to suffocate Harry. Until “I know that’s probably not enough, but I’m here. I’d be there whenever you want me.” Did Pete know about the effect of such unfortunate expressions on Harry’s heart rate?

_I should’ve just kept quiet._ Harry’s fingers turned white around his coke bottle, thinking of a way to save this conversation. “You know, don’t worry about it. I’ll probably be fine.”

He stood up to walk into the kitchen, preparing the excuse to get some ice for the coke in his head, but Pete got up merely a second later while saying: “Don’t be silly, this is what friends are - …” He abruptly stopped, realizing they weren’t standing as far apart as _friends_ would be. A hand’s width. From behind them echoed beats of a song Pete didn’t know, and he wished he could focus on it. Wishing meant nothing in the face of Harry’s deep, woeful eyes. He felt like the part of his brain that usually took care of the thinking part had been locked away behind a heavy wooden door and was knocking on it in confusion, calling out: “Peter? Peter?”

But it was only Harry, softly saying his name just once, with a question mark at the end. This wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?

Meanwhile, Harry felt like exploding. He was _this_ close. It would take so painfully little to risk everything. And Peter’s lips, slightly parted in puzzlement, looked so inviting. But he couldn’t help but think, _what if he pushes me away? What if I disgust him?_

It probably required more willpower to swallow hard and look down, slowly turning away, than it would’ve taken to just give in. Harry ran his hand through his hair and exhaled, relieved he didn’t poker just now. Peter meant too much to him. “I was, I was, uh, going to get some ice cubes from the kitchen. You want some?” Waving his hands in the vague direction, Harry took off.

Nodding, Peter stood by himself in the living room. What had just happened? Why was the bottom of his stomach so heavy? Once Harry had left the room, he pressed his eyelids together. He wasn’t used to not figuring things out right away. He was beginning to make sense of it, which made him long for a Pause button, or even better, an Escape key. Harry was taking forever in the kitchen. It wasn’t Pete’s proudest moment when he called: “I said I’d watch a movie with May. Is it okay if I go?”

Harry, fully aware that this wasn’t true, forced a smile even though Pete couldn’t see him and shouted back: “Sure, get home safe.”

_If only I’d known adulthood brought such bliss._

That was it. 


	3. Crawling Back To You

That couldn’t be it. Peter lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He’d never been able to tell what was going on in Harry’s head, but right then he wished he could just this once. And even without that insight, he was aware that running off the way he did was the least helpful thing he could have done, which was totally unlike him. When had he started not feeling in control of his choices around his best friend any more? What was it making everything simple so complicated? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Harry freaking Osborn’s stupid lips?

He sat up abruptly, rubbing his face aggressively. There was nothing he wanted more than to feel like himself again, and for Harry to stop looking so miserable.

Everything had been easier when they were kids. No dead parents, no spider powers, no alcoholism. A second after having that thought he felt guilty. And then he stood up, eager to do something or at least think of a way out of this. That couldn’t be so hard, could it? He’d battled numerous villains and even survived high school, how come this felt like so much of a challenge? Because it was Harry, the one person apart from his aunt who’d always been there. Because something he couldn’t pinpoint had changed.

Fine. If he couldn’t sleep, he’d figure this out now. Fumbling for his headphones, he selected the album he’d given Harry for his birthday on his phone and played it. Harry had looked so disappointed after he told him the reason he chose that specific record, so there had to be something to it, right?

When the first notes rang out, he felt himself relax and even smile a little at the thought of Harry and a whiskey glass in his hand. In his memories, Harry looked smug and satisfied.

Then; _Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few? Cause I always do. Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new._ He’d known the lyrics before, but this time they hit him. Hard. And everything fell into place: Harry on the phone, the tenseness in his lower abdomen when they’d simultaneously stood up, the chaos in his head.

How did he not notice it sooner?

Apparently even Midtown Science’s brightest were sometimes oblivious to the obvious. His throat tightened as he began wondering what to do with this newfound realization. This was big, wasn’t it? He couldn’t just sit here now.

 

He sat there until May called for breakfast. A weekend tradition. Only when he smelled the toast and the homemade jam, he noticed how hungry he was. Starved, upset and determined.

“Is everything okay, Peter, dear?” May asked, concerned as he heaved the breakfast into himself. He nodded with his mouth full.

“You seem weird. Any plans for today?”

Again he nodded, and replied: “I’m heading over to Harry’s.”

“How is Harry these days anyway?”

Seeing as his mouth was full once more, Peter just gave her a thumbs up and smiled with round cheeks.

“You’ve got an appetite this morning, haven’t you?”

_You have no idea, May._

He kissed her on the cheek before he stormed out of the door, pulling himself up on a net in the next alleyway. Was he careless or just carefree? What a thin line.

 

 **I’m outside your door, can u let me in?** read the text on Harry’s phone. Staring at the shadows under his sleepless eyes in the mirror, he clenched his teeth. At least they weren’t red and puffy any more. At least he was dressed decently.

What could Pete possibly want after the disaster yesterday? Harry hesitated. He could see Pete’s brown-haired head through the blurry glass on his front door. He stood tall, and seemed to be swaying back and forth on his feet nervously. _Like the last person present at prom. Possibly stoned_.

How could he leave him out there? It was like something pulled him magnetically towards the door. But he only opened it slightly, without unlocking the security chain lock. “What do you want?” He attempted to sound business-like.

“I wanted to see my best friend.”

Reluctantly, he unlocked the chain, allowing him to open the door fully. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not so long. Can we talk about yesterday?” Most of his confidence was fake, but Peter didn’t mind as long as his voice didn’t betray him. He ever so barely kept himself from fidgeting with his hands.

Still not letting him in, Harry asked: “What do you want to talk about?”

“Arctic Monkeys. Whiskey. Just stuff.” Just stuff didn’t really capture what he meant, but Pete switched on his puppy eyes and smiled up at Harry, who felt his throat tighten.

“You know, I don’t really feel too good today. Maybe you should go.”

“No, I know. That’s my fault. I acted really stupid yesterday. Let me make it up to you.” Peter’s smile was gone, he simply looked sincere and Harry couldn’t believe his ears. His stomach threatened to implode when Peter went on: “I should’ve just kissed you then.” Harry paled, unable to move or answer. _Please let this not be some kind of sick joke._ And he knew it wasn’t as Peter’s gaze softened and he asked: “Can I now?”

“Yes.” _Yes, please_.

Peter stepped through the doorframe, placing his hand on Harry’s neck and they met in the middle. Open mouths and breathless laughs, it took them a while to separate again. “Took you long enough to get the hint, Parker.” Harry felt more relieved than surprised at the fact that this really was happening, finally, and he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Well, I found this tune that makes me think of you somehow,” Pete quoted, flushed all right, while Harry finished: “And I play it on repeat.” Their eyes met, causing them both to crack up. Harry never imagined he could be this at ease with another person, let alone someone he was attracted to. Incredibly attracted.

Peter’s hand found Harry’s cheek, making him quiet down and look up expectantly. “Can this like become a regular thing?” His eyes were positively beaming.

“You mean permanent?” Harry specified cockily, shifting his head.

“Yeah. Would that be okay?” His shy joy, his glistening lips were the reason Harry didn’t hesitate for a second before answering: “Okay? It’d be like my birthday every day, Pete.”

Smiling, Peter leaned in again and kissed him vigorously, Harry’s hands against his chest, and he murmured: “Happy Birthday, then.”


End file.
